


it's all gone awry

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, POV Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27064504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: There’s a long pause and then Bucky thunks his head against Steve’s shoulder again, sounds defeated when he speaks again. “I want to keep him.”Well. Fair enough. Steve’s brain is still replaying the last hour on repeat, and he’s starting to think that propositioning Clint Barton for casual sex was a terrible idea for reasons that weren’t on the pro/con list that Bucky made on Thursday.“Me too,” Steve says, and his voice is just as defeated as Bucky’s.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 53
Kudos: 535





	it's all gone awry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).



> Beloved Arson. Please accept this gift. I got most of the way through this fic and then deleted half of it to rewrite the whole thing, which I did twice before I was satisfied with the finished product. That being said, I'm happy with it and I hope you are too.
> 
> This is an expansion of a snippet I did on Tumblr - I do many of these! Feel free to check them out.

“You doing alright there?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve says as Clint’s mouth works around his dick. He’d been trying not to swear but it’s hard when all he can feel is wet heat, Clint’s tongue rubbing against every sensitive spot he’s got. “Fuck, Clint, don’t stop.”

There’s metal fingers on his hip and he can feel Bucky’s gaze burning through him, watching Clint take him apart with tongue and a barely-there graze of teeth. Steve’s watching Clint too - when he can get his eyes to focus - and he’s met with hazy cornflower blue from under dark gold lashes.

It’s a struggle not to shake apart and he’s been holding off for so long that it’d hurt if it didn’t feel so good. If he’s honest it hurts a little anyway, but in the kind of way that makes his toes curl and his fingers clench in Clint’s hair.

Steve tugs a fraction too hard and he’s about to gasp out an apology when he feels Clint shiver hard under his hand, taking him in until his nose is brushing the hair at Steve’s groin. He’s messy and almost desperate in his movements, moaning around Steve’s cock, a far cry from the methodic determination he’d been showing before now.

It hits Steve like lightning; Clint _likes_ it, and he can’t stop himself from doing it again as he comes so hard he can feel it in his toes and fingertips. His mind goes blessedly blank for a long moment.

It lasts until he notices Clint sitting up, wiping the mess of spit and cum off of his face. He’s looking hazy and heated, not even bothering to clean himself up properly before he’s slinking up the bed. Bucky gets to him before Steve can catch his breath and that means Steve gets to watch them make out, so it’s not a loss in any way.

When they break apart for breath Steve reaches out for him and Clint arches into the touch like the simple brush of fingertips is sending him crazy. “Let me touch you,” he says, letting his hands drift up Clint’s chest, across his shoulders.

“Looked so good doing that,” Bucky says. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

“Pretty,” Steve echoes, and Clint makes a broken noise at that. “What do you want? I'll give you anything. Anything you want."

“God, I’m-” Clint breathes, reaching out to Steve like he’s precious, and then the room is suddenly filled with an extremely loud rendition of what sounds like the CanCan. “Shit, that’s my phone.”

Steve manages not to make a disappointed noise as his hands draw back and he slides off the bed, fishing around for the source of the noise. He’s tempted to tell Clint to ignore it.

That’d be too much, though. He’s not the boss here.

The bed feels a lot colder without his body in it, despite the fact it was never really made for three fully-grown men to fit in. Steve’s thankful for the way Bucky spoons up behind him to soothe the itch for touch a little, but he can’t stop himself from watching the oddly graceful dip of Clint’s spine, or the lube still shiny-wet between his thighs.

“Yeah?”

Immediately Clint’s gentle, slightly reverent demeanor shifts to blank neutrality as the person on the other end replies.

“Hey, Katie-Kate. I’ll be there in ten,” Clint says into the phone as he hitches his pants up around his waist.

Steve starts missing the map of bare skin, the smattering of scars and freckles he was pressing his mouth to only seconds before. He still gets a nice eyeful of Clint’s biceps, which are indecent all on their own, but it’s not quite the same.

“No, I’m not doing anything important,” Clint answers after a beat, not even looking at them. “Just at the store. You want more Doritos while I’m here?”

Steve doesn’t know how he lies so easily.

Judging from the way metal fingers clench slightly on his own bare hip, Bucky’s not sure about it either. Clint hangs up the phone after a couple more exchanges with Kate and then shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, bends down to pick up his shirt.

There’s a few minutes of rustling that grow increasingly frustrated and Bucky pushes up from the mattress beside Steve, his hair brushing Steve’s shoulder. 

“Just borrow one of mine, Barton,” he says. “Don’t keep your girl waiting.”

“She’d kill you for calling her that,” Clint answers with clear amusement in his voice, but he picks up something at random from the floor and shrugs it on. It’s one of Bucky’s favourites, dark red plaid with a smudge of green paint that’s never quite come out, and Steve’s breath catches in his lungs in a way it hasn’t since he was asthmatic.

Good grief.

“This was fun,” Clint says, leans in to press his lips against Steve’s. It doesn’t last long enough, but a second later Steve gets to watch Clint kiss Bucky too, which is pretty nice.

Clint’s voice was almost too cheerful on the fun part of that sentence.

“Alright, see you guys at the team meeting on Monday,” Clint says, and then he’s gone, the only evidence of his visit being the missing shirt somewhere in their apartment. 

Steve’s going to find it when he gets up. He’d like to think that he’s going to be mature and wash it before he gives it back to Clint privately, but he’s probably just going to fold it on his pillow so he can pretend Clint’s stayed, just once.

He lets himself sigh then, a little longingly, and Bucky presses his face into Steve’s shoulder briefly, stubble scraping against bare skin. He’s still a little sweaty from earlier activities but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind as he wriggles closer, presses a finger into a fading bruise that Clint had left. Steve lets him, because it aches in the good kind of way.

“Did you-” they start at the same time, stop.

“You first,” Steve says. 

There’s a long pause and then Bucky thunks his head against Steve’s shoulder again, sounds defeated when he speaks again. “I want to keep him.”

Well. Fair enough. Steve’s brain is still replaying the last hour on repeat, and he’s starting to think that propositioning Clint Barton for casual sex was a terrible idea for reasons that weren’t on the pro/con list that Bucky made on Thursday. 

“Me too,” Steve says, and his voice is just as defeated as Bucky’s.

Goddamnit.

“Polyamory,” Bucky reads aloud.

His face is illuminated by the white glow from his phone and Steve’s partially distracted by the highlight on Bucky’s sharp jawline, the weirdly elegant curve of his nose. It’s hard not to appreciate the sight even though Steve knows Bucky’s face better than his own, and he clambers back on the bed instead of going to check his emails like he’d planned, presses his cheek to Bucky’s chest.

There’s something comforting about a heartbeat.

Steve wonders if he could get Clint to sit still for long enough to listen to his. Probably not, knowing Clint. It’s hard for him to stop moving sometimes. Steve gets it - too much going on in your head, makes it difficult to settle. Not that Clint ever hangs around for long.

“What’re you reading?”

“The practice of - or desire for - having more than one intimate partner with the informed consent of all involved,” Bucky says. “This is a _thing_ now. People do it and it’s not weird or bad. Steve, I think I love the future.”

“You always loved the future,” Steve answers, inhaling the scent of Bucky’s deodorant - he thinks it’s funny to buy Captain America-themed ones but this one doesn’t smell half bad - and closing his eyes for a second.

It’s nice. He can still hear Bucky tapping around on his phone some more, but Steve’s full attention isn’t required right this second and he’s happy to just listen to Bucky’s steady breathing and the faint whirr of his metal arm, quietly revel in the peace. They need more of these tiny slices of perfect in their lives, honestly.

The only thing that could improve it would be having Clint here with them.

“You think we could?”

“Date Barton? In theory,” Bucky says. “The way he lies about where he’s been when he’s with us, though, who knows what he wants.”

“He seems happy when he’s here,” Steve responds. “If he didn’t want to be with us, he wouldn’t show up. Do you… think it’s only sex, for him?”

“I can’t read minds, Rogers. If you want to know what Clint’s thinking, you gotta ask Clint what he’s thinking.”

“He probably won’t tell me,” Steve says.

Bucky snorts. “Nah.”

“I want to do this right,” Steve adds. “If we’re actually going to do this. We should sit down somewhere and have a proper conversation about where we’re taking this and what we want to do about it with Clint.”

“Does that mean no sex?”

“That means no sex.”

“Aw.”

“Don’t be crude,” Steve says, prods Bucky in the side. “We can do that when we’re not having a serious talk about relationships.”

“Hrm,” Bucky says. He puts his phone down and smacks Steve’s hand away from his stomach, rolling over so he’s on top, propping himself up on his elbows. “What about right now? Too serious for you?”

There’s no lights on in their room except for the faint glow of the city outside their window but the serum gave him night vision powerful enough that he can still see every inch of Bucky’s faint smile. It’s beautiful and Steve’s fingers itch for a sketchbook, a napkin and pen, anything to keep a memento of how truly breathtaking it is.

“It might be,” Steve says. Pushing, just a little. “What would you do if I said no?”

Bucky regards him thoughtfully and then adjusts his position so he can splay his steel fingers against his own chest, trail them down his body slow enough to get Steve watching every inch. “Might have to deal with it myself.”

“Shame,” Steve says, can’t even find the tone meant to make it sound sarcastic. He’s too busy thinking about Bucky jerking off on top of him, playing with himself while Steve isn’t allowed to touch.

Bucky pauses with his hand dipping underneath the hem of his sweatpants. They’re just on this side of too small and Steve can see the generous length of his cock through the grey fabric. His mouth is watering just a little when Bucky leans forward to breathe hot on Steve’s ear, press in close.

“I could go find Clint and ask him to touch me instead,” Bucky murmurs. “Tell him exactly what to do and when to do it. You think he’d take instruction as nicely as he takes my dick?”

“ _Oh_ ,” is all Steve can manage, images flooding his head. God, that’s not fair.

“I’d ask him to tie you down on the bed so you can’t participate even if you want to,” Bucky continues. “Then I’d fuck him right there and make you watch him lose it without being able to do anything yourself. You’d just have to lay there and feel every thrust through the mattress - you think you could come from that?”

Steve’s answering noise is more of a whine than anything else. He doesn’t know the answer to that question - all he knows is that he wants to see it, rather desperately.

“Dirty boy,” Bucky remarks quietly, and Steve shudders.

“Thank god we’re done with that,” Sam says, wiping sweat off his brow. “Goddamn mandatory training. You want those sweet potato fries from the usual place?”

“Later. I’ll catch up with you,” Steve says.

It earns him a raised eyebrow, and then Sam’s gaze flicks from Steve to a spot behind him before returning back again. “Not in the locker room showers again,” he says. “Keep that shit out of public spaces, it’s nasty.”

“Sorry,” Steve says automatically, although he’s struggling to feel genuinely remorseful when he remembers the sounds Clint had made when he’d been pinned up against the tiles, legs wrapped around Steve’s hips.

Sam’s not impressed. “Uh huh. Clean up once you’re done.”

“We’re not even-” Steve starts, exasperated, but Sam’s already heading out the door to acquire his lunch.

Steve’s going to have to buy him a _lot_ of food before he stops being snide about that whole situation, but that’s not his focus right now. His focus right now is the sweaty idiots scrambling around on the mats, who have apparently decided that they’d rather act like children than actually train for battles.

“Hair-pulling is _not_ part of training,” he says.

“Anything goes when you’re beating up a bad guy,” Clint quips, tugging on Bucky’s ponytail.

Bucky swears and twists his hand in the fistful of blond strands between his fingers, and Steve’s close enough to see the split second of Clint’s gaze unfocusing slightly, lips parting. He recovers immediately and goes back to yanking Bucky’s hair, but Steve still has that look etched into his memory.

“Come on, stop it,” he says, crouching down so he can untangle Clint’s hair from Bucky’s hand without it getting caught on the metal plates. “I swear you two _like_ acting like you’re back in grade school.”

“We do,” Clint answers unapologetically.

Bucky kicks him. “Brat.”

“Asshole.”

“I’ll show _you_ -”

“Hey,” Steve interrupts. “Cut it out, both of you. Stop pulling each others’ hair and get up.”

They’re still grumbling and prodding each other, but there’s no more hair pulling. Steve decides to take that as a win and focus on other things. It’s not like he can get them to change so late in their relationship anyway. (Besides, a tiny part of him is relieved that Bucky can still be childish and petty and grumpy.)

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Clint says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You two want to join, that’s up to you.”

He starts sauntering off in the direction of the locker rooms and Steve’s momentarily distracted by his ass - _damn_ those tight shorts - before he remembers what he’d come over to them for.

“Wait a second,” he says.

Clint pauses, tips his head. “C’mon, I’m sweaty and gross. What is it?”

“I wanted to,” Steve starts. Stops. “Bucky and I wanted to talk to you about something. About us. We’ve been discussing our future, and what we want it to look like, and-”

“That all sounds great, but we’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes,” Clint cuts in. “And I got kicked out last time I went in my gym clothes.”

“That’s because you had no shirt on and it was distracting that ambassador,” Bucky says. "And me."

“This is important,” Steve says, tries not to make it sound either whiny or like an order. “What about after?”

“Press meeting,” Bucky and Clint answer at the same time, albeit glumly.

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m out with Natasha all day,” Bucky says. “We’ve got some Red Room stuff to take care of and we keep putting it off.”

Clint sounds dubious when he speaks next. “Is this talk really that serious that it needs both of you?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “How about the day after?”

“Day after’s fine for me,” Bucky responds.

“Friday,” Steve says. “We’ll talk about it then. Properly, without any distractions.”

“Sounds good,” Clint answers with a grin that feels slightly less radiant than usual. “Serious talk. Friday. All three of us. Got it. You sure you don’t want to follow me into the showers before that, though?”

“This isn’t about sex, you fiend,” Bucky says, throwing a sock at him.

Clint dodges it easily and flips the bird before he swings around and heads back to where he’d been going. There’s something a little stiff about the way he’s walking, somehow. Something feels off but Steve can’t quite put a finger on it, so he lets it go.

Friday.

Friday comes and Steve wakes up to see a folded shirt sitting on the end of the bed.

It’s only five in the morning, so Bucky’s still fast asleep. He’s stolen all the blankets during the night and is now curled up in his own cocoon of bedcovers right up against the wall with only a thin sliver of skin visible.

It’s a good thing Steve doesn’t get cold at night. He carefully slides off of the mattress and approaches the neat square of fabric.

Unfolding it, he realizes it’s the shirt that Clint had borrowed the other day. It’s soft to touch and smells like Clint’s clothes - he must’ve washed it before he’d brought it back. The green paint is still stubbornly stuck to it, although it looks more faded than before. Steve rubs his thumb over the stain, looks at the window.

No sign of him.

Strange.

Clint must’ve snuck in and out without alerting either of them - a testament to his skills, certainly, but it’s a worry that he didn’t wake them. The last time he’d visited the apartment he’d vaulted in through the open skylight and nearly landed on Bucky. He’d laughed when Bucky had yelled at him and Steve’s breath had caught in his lungs at the sight.

Yeah, they’ve got to talk about this.

Once Bucky wakes up, though.

Steve puts the shirt to his nose and inhales, just for a second, imagines Clint’s here with them.

Maybe soon, he thinks.

When they get to the Compound later that day, though, there’s no Clint there either.

The rest of the team is in the main room. Wanda’s playing an intense-looking game of chess with Pietro, who is surprisingly holding his own against her despite the fact that he keeps getting distracted by the Spanish soap opera that Sam and Natasha are watching. Sam’s got his feet in Natasha’s lap and she’s painting them an interesting shade of orange while Tony holds the bottle of polish steady for her.

It’s a peaceful scene, but someone’s missing.

“Where’s Clint?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies, keeps his voice quiet. “Want to check his room?”

“No point,” Bucky responds. He’s right - Steve’s never seen Clint go inside his room here at all, let alone set up in there. It’s too new, too different. Steve and Bucky had felt the same way about it. Bucky’s wearing the shirt that Clint had left now, and he’s absently rubbing his fingertips against the worn fabric of the sleeve.

There’s a faintly worried look on his face and Steve wants to comfort him, but they’d be better off finding Clint first to solve the root of that anxiety.

“Guess we’ll have to ask around, then,” Steve says.

“Mm,” Bucky answers noncommittally.

Steve turns to the group and raises his voice. “Sam, have you seen Clint?”

“He got called out to a mission,” Sam replies with a shrug.

“They should ask me instead,” Pietro says. “I would be a much better agent than him.”

“They still don’t trust us,” Wanda reminds him gently, and Pietro rolls his eyes dramatically before taking one of her pawns. “Clint is the one they trust to take missions right now, so there’s been a few that only alert him hours before they go. It happens.”

It _does_ happen, except that Clint is one of the highest-ranked agents still alive and he can pick and choose what he wants to do most of the time. He’s certainly turned down missions before, and even for insignificant things like not wanting to go to Alaska because he’s ‘tired of being cold.’

Which means he _chose_ to take this one on.

Possibly to avoid them.

Steve risks a glance at the plaid shirt again. The dread is like a rock in his stomach and it’s growing faster than he can handle. Is it possible Clint figured out what they were going to talk to him about and felt so uncomfortable with it that he decided to vanish completely? He’d been fine with propositioning them.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Bucky says, catching a belt loop on his jeans and tugging him backwards, out of view of their teammates.

Steve can’t quite keep the worry out of his voice. “Do you think it was just sex for him?”

Bucky sighs, presses his fingers against his forehead like the whole situation is giving him a headache. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t-”

“I _mean_ ,” Bucky says, cutting him off, “that no matter what his answer is, this is a terrible way to deal with it. I can take a no. What I can’t take is this running off bullshit - you’d think he’d have the balls to say it to our faces.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“The fuck’s gonna happen when he gets back? What, he’s just gonna avoid us for the rest of his life?”

“It’s going to affect the team,” Steve realizes.

“Dammit,” Bucky says. “Alright, go get one of Stark’s cars from the garage. I’ll steal the mission briefing from the computers. We’re going to go deal with this now.”

“What - Buck, we can’t just show up in the middle of a dangerous mission to bully Clint into talking to us,” Steve says, a little desperately because he can see that spark of anger in Bucky’s eyes that means he’s very likely to kick Clint the second he spots him.

“If it’s dangerous, he can appreciate the backup,” Bucky answers flatly. “I’m not having it out in front of everyone here when he gets back.”

“We don’t even know what’s going on yet,” Steve tries, but truth be told, he’s already agreeing with Bucky. Involving the rest of the team is exactly the kind of thing they want to avoid with something so delicate and tentative, especially when they’re not sure what’s going on with Clint.

“Then we find out,” Bucky says. Like it’s simple.

“I’ll get the shield.”

They get close to the location Clint’s been dropped off in - a small place in Vermont that’s all abandoned apartment buildings and empty plots of land. It’s almost eerie in it’s silence, and that’s when Tony’s car gives up the ghost.

Somehow, Steve isn’t surprised that God is making them work for it.

“Hell,” Bucky says, kicking the still-smoking car. “Fuckin’ thing.”

“Careful, we don’t know _why_ it’s doing that,” Steve warns.

“If it was anything real serious, we’d be dead,” Bucky reasons. Then he kicks it again.

Steve sighs and presses a hand to his aching skull. The sun’s already getting low in the sky and he’s still tempted to walk the whole way to the dispatch point in the dark despite the logic telling him that there’s no way Clint would still be there. Bucky’s still beating up the poor defenceless car.

“We should start moving,” he says. “People might notice.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Rogers, there ain’t no people ‘round here. Just you, me, and a fucked-up car.”

“Stop swearing all the time,” Steve says, well aware that it’s going to be ignored because Bucky doesn’t give a shit about any orders from him or anyone else anymore. Predictably, he hears a scoffing noise from behind him and then a muffled _bonk_.

When he starts walking, though, Bucky’s fingers catch his and link them together.

It’s comforting, in its own little way. He still remembers the days when Bucky wouldn’t stay in the same room as him, looking haunted as Clint gently guided him into one of those silly competitions they both love. Christ, Clint’s been patching them up again from the start, hasn’t he?

“That’s not practical for hostile territory,” Steve says, but when Bucky tries to pull away he holds on. “Wait, don’t go anywhere.”

“Contrary bastard,” Bucky mutters. “Actin’ like you can follow more than one safety tip at a time, Rogers, you’re more damn reckless than I am.”

“I love you,” Steve says.

Bucky grimaces at him. “Why do you always pick the least romantic moments to confess your love to me? Just once, I’d like for it to be when we’re doing something nice.”

“You were the one that suggested this,” Steve fires back. “Not me. You can’t pin this one on me.”

“I’ll just stick with the other four hundred and seventy-two times you’ve dragged me into shit against my one time, alright?”

They keep affectionately bickering as they walk down an alleyway with cracked, uneven concrete and weeds growing in the gaps. Steve’s so preoccupied with talking that he almost misses the dark shape at the end of the alley, but then he catches a glimpse of purple from the corner of his eye and turns his head.

“H-”

Bucky yanks him through a gap in the wall before he can finish calling out. He’s got a revolver in his free hand and Steve’s about to ask what that reaction was for before he realizes the shape was far too wide to be Clint.

“Did you hear something?”

“Might’ve. Let’s look around.”

“Shit,” Bucky says under his breath when the strange voices get closer, points across the broken-down ruins of the building they’re in to an open window.

Steve nods his agreement and they head that way, trying to stay quiet. If this turns into a big fight they’ll compromise Clint’s mission and be unable to locate him. The briefing said that Clint was only watching and reporting back to Fury, so it’s better if they don’t cause a ruckus. Bucky’s better at stealth and Steve follows his lead on this one as they loop around collapsed buildings and empty streets.

“Think we lost ‘em,” Bucky says. “How close are we to Barton’s dropoff point?”

“Not close enough. I don’t think he’d be there anymore, anyway,” Steve answers regretfully.

“We can’t run around yelling his name until he shows up. What-”

“ _Hey!_ You’re not allowed to be here.”

“Fuck,” Bucky says. Steve’s inclined to agree - they’re not in mission gear, but he’s easily recognizable and Bucky’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, which means the arm will be on display.

They take off again but their luck is running out quickly - made evident by the next corner they turn, leaving them in a closed-off street with no sign of an exit and the patrolling men behind them. Steve tries a door but it’s blocked from the other side by something too heavy for even him to move, and Bucky swears at the solid concrete walls.

“No choice,” Steve says, turning around and holding the shield aloft.

Bucky levels his gun at the opening where they’d come from, grim determination on his face.

Something soft hits Steve in the back of the head. He flinches at it and then turns around to see a rope ladder hanging down from an opening higher on the building.

It could be a trap, but it’s all they’ve got right now.

“Buck,” he says. “Quickly.”

Steve pulls the rope up when they get into the building, just in time for a whole group of men to come around the corner. He ducks down and strains his ears, hears them muttering to each other about one agent that’s alerted them three times over raccoons in the trash.

They don’t seem particularly happy about being falsely called over and after a minute of searching, they leave again.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says, turning to Bucky.

Bucky, who’s watching the open doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

Steve follows his gaze.

Clint looks like he’s been in a fight. There’s a line of raised red scratches on his jaw and down the side of his neck and one of the sleeves on his jacket has been ripped at the elbow. He’s still standing fine, thankfully, but the blood on his lip doesn’t help Steve’s worrying.

Steve still can’t stop himself from stepping in close when Clint lowers the bow he’s still holding onto, reaching out to touch the scratches. Clint hisses and Steve pulls his hand back to rest gently on the line of Clint’s jaw. He’s double-checking for any bigger wounds just in case, mostly, but in the back of his mind he’s simply relieved to be touching Clint again.

“What happened to you?”

“Got caught under a rusted fence,” Clint answers ruefully.

Bucky snorts. “Dumbass.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve says. “You got your tetanus shots, right?”

“Sure,” Clint says. It’s noncommittal enough that Steve makes a mental note to drag him to the nearest medical professional when he gets the opportunity. “You’re okay? Is there an emergency at the Compound?”

“We’re fine,” Steve answers.

“So what-” Clint starts, breaks off with a frown on his face.

“Bunch of jeeps just pulled up over here. They’re upping patrols now it’s getting dark,” Bucky says from where he’s walked over to the window. “Think we’re stuck here for the night.”

“We could…” Steve starts, but Bucky’s right. It’s not safe to go stumbling around in the dark in an unfamiliar place, especially when one of them doesn’t have enhanced night vision and Clint’s in the middle of a mission that they’re not technically supposed to be accompanying him on.

There’s a rickety-looking chair by the door and Clint sits down on it, props his face up with his hand. He looks tired and Steve feels guilty for a split second. It’s strong enough that he stops until Bucky tosses a tube of antiseptic cream at him.

Right. Something to do. “Can I…?”

“I am capable of looking after myself, y’know,” Clint says with an indignant edge to his voice, but he tips his face up for easier access all the same.

Steve squeezes out a tiny blob of cream. “Doesn’t mean you can’t accept some help every now and then.”

Clint sighs and closes his eyes.

It’s getting dark.

“I only brought a couple bars of chocolate and some dry two-minute noodles with me,” Clint says. “We’re gonna have to ration it out. Wasn’t really expecting company.”

“We weren’t expecting to _be_ company,” Steve says.

“You guys shouldn’t even be here,” Clint mutters. Glances up. “What _are_ you doing here?”

“Finding your dumb ass,” Bucky says.

Steve looks away.

“Well, you found me. I’m fine.” Clint’s voice is flat.

“Yeah well, _I’m_ not,” Bucky snaps. “We said Friday. You _agreed_ on Friday. You think we like being treated like we’ve got the goddamn plague, Barton? Either man up and talk about what the hell’s going on with you or I’m eating your share of the chocolate.”

It’s not the best threat he’s ever heard, but apparently Bucky’s no-nonsense tone gets through to Clint. That, or he really likes chocolate.

“Look,” Clint says. “Running off wasn’t the best choice. I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“I just needed a few days,” Clint says, with something heavy in his voice. “I know we agreed on Friday for the serious talk but I needed to get used to the idea that you guys don’t want me anymore. I won’t make it weird, I promise.”

Well.

“I - the _fuck_ , Barton,” Bucky says. Doesn’t get out anything more than that.

Steve can’t make sense of it. “What in the world made you think we don’t want you?”

“I’m me?” Clint answers, lips twitching up into a self-deprecating smile.

It takes Steve a few minutes to process. This isn’t Clint’s awkward reaction to having to reject people he works with. It doesn’t sound like it’s anything to do with them personally at all, really. It just sounds like Clint’s struggling with his own mind.

“Idiot,” Bucky says, without a hint of tact. “Why’re we letting you in our bed all the time if we don’t like you?”

“I’m easy,” Clint answers with a shrug. Like it’s that simple.

Like that’s the only reason they’d possibly want to be in his company. For the _sex_ , of all things. Not because they like him and _trust_ him, or because Steve feels like an asthmatic again every time he feels Clint smiling when they kiss. Not for the nights that Clint’s talked Bucky down from a panic attack or turned the heating up until he’s sweating because Steve’s remembering the ice again.

“I’d never have sex with you again if it meant you’d stay the night,” Steve blurts out. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud - it’s too emotional, too _dramatic_ to be comfortable. It sounds like those old romance novels that Sam likes.

Clint just blinks at him.

Steve’s trying to figure out a way to say _I love you_ without actually saying it because he’s sure that would be too much for Clint, but he doesn’t figure it out before Bucky’s impulse control gives out. Instead he’s greeted with the sight of Bucky unceremoniously dropping himself in Clint’s lap - the chair letting out an alarming creak - and cupping his face to bring their lips together.

It’s hard to miss the tentative way Clint’s fingers rest on Bucky’s thighs. Like he’s not quite sure where this is leading, or if he’s allowed to do this outside of previously-negotiated sexual encounters. It’s a very _soft_ kiss, considering Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s still mad, and weirdly enough it’s giving Steve flutters even though he’s not actively involved.

“Stop it,” Bucky says when he releases Clint, who’s looking a little dazed.

“Okay,” Clint breathes. Blinks. “What am I stopping?”

“You’re a lost cause,” Bucky tells him.

“We wanted to talk to you about making this a permanent thing, Clint. A _romantic_ thing, where you don’t have to lie to your friends about where you are,” Steve says finally, because they’d skipped over that.

“I… what?”

“If that’s something you want,” he adds. Just in case he’s reading this wrong.

“I didn’t know that was an option,” Clint says. “I thought…”

“This better not be another comment about how you’re secretly worthless,” Bucky warns. “I’ll kick your ass, Barton, just you watch.”

“I thought it wasn’t like that,” Clint finally finishes, although from the expression on his face it looks like Bucky might’ve been right. Christ, how did they fuck up so badly? They should’ve just come out with their intentions immediately instead of waiting.

“It is like that,” Steve says, instead of saying any of that. “Is that… okay?”

“I think I’m hallucinating,” Clint says. “Or I’m going to wake up and this was all a dream. You know how _weird_ it is that you showed up during a mission, right? Steve’s supposed to be setting a good example.”

“I am,” Steve responds.

“You broke a bunch of rules and nearly compromised the mission,” Clint says. “For me.”

“For you,” Bucky agrees. “Because you were being a shit.”

“ _You’re_ a shit,” Clint retorts.

“Boys,” Steve says. “Clint. You didn’t say whether you’d want…?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Clint says with a smile that’s not quite as dramatically big as it normally is. It’s small and pleased, and Steve can’t stop himself from leaning over to taste it.

He’s missed this.

“Does this mean I can steal your shirts more often?”

“Get your own damn shirts,” Bucky says, and Clint laughs.

“Welcome to Benjamin’s. Can I get you gentlemen anything?”

“Five pizzas is too many,” Steve says. “Isn’t it?”

“I could probably eat five pizzas on my own, honestly,” Clint answers with a smirk.

“I want to see it,” Bucky says.

“Not on date night,” Steve says, turns back to the amused-looking waiter. “Can you give us another five minutes? I have to renegotiate with these two before they start an eating contest again.”

The waiter wanders off to another table, looking like her day’s brightened immensely by a trio of Avengers eating at her establishment. Steve keeps a marker for this exact purpose, thankfully, so he’ll be ready when she inevitably asks for something to be signed.

Clint and Bucky are still arguing about exactly how much pizza Clint could eat if he really put his mind to it - Steve’s not sure he wants to know, really, because Clint can put away a lot of food when he’s not even trying. Clint apparently gives up on trying to argue after a second and grabs Bucky’s hair in a childish move, but it’s only to kiss him and Bucky lets him do it.

A loud rendition of the CanCan interrupts them.

“Shit, that’s me,” Clint says. “Hang on.”

“These young people and their phones,” Bucky says dryly.

“Katie, hey,” Clint greets. “What’s up?”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Clint goes, “yeah, I’m out with Steve and Bucky. It’s date night. Can you drop Lucky off with Barney? He’s visiting Simone and the boys, see if they’ll take him for a walk and I’ll grab him later.”

A weird lump in Steve’s chest dissolves.

“Mkay,” Clint says. “Gotta get back to it now, there’s pizza involved. I’ll see you around.”

Bucky snorts.

Clint hangs up and pockets the phone, turns a slightly self-conscious grin on Steve. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Nothing at all. Just happy.”

"You're gonna be happier when you see what I'm wearing underneath these jeans," Clint says. 

Truth be told, Steve's pretty sure he can't _get_ any happier, but he's willing to try.


End file.
